Kink
by Ezra Quinn
Summary: Prompt requested by Jadefyre through tumblr: "John discovers Sherlock has a porn collection with established bi!john and bi!sherlock." So he does, and shenanigans ensue.


Having just wrapped up a case with Sherlock the day before, John brought some tea over to the desk in the sitting room to get to work on the blog. It felt awkward, opening up Sherlock's laptop instead of his own; but he'd have to get used to it for the next week or so, until Sherlock could arse himself to go downtown and get him a new one. He'd been borrowing John's over the weekend while fiddling with his acids at the table—despite John's clear instructions to never use it in close proximity to experiments—and in his haste to conduct a time-sensitive transfer from one flask to another, spilled some sort of sulfuric concoction onto the keyboard and monitor of John's laptop. Conveniently enough, a former client of Sherlock's works at an electronics shop in downtown London, so he could easily get a discount on a new laptop for John. What he couldn't do, much to John's dismay, was recover the pictures and other files he'd had saved on his destroyed laptop.

Remembering the aggressive sex John had demanded and received as an apology, he grinned. Images flashed in his mind like a highlight reel: tearing Sherlock's clothes off, seeing the muscles in his back and shoulders tense up when John pinned him against the wall, and the dark, damp curls that were clinging to the back of his lover's sweating neck by the time they were through.

John shivered pleasantly as the flashbacks settled into the back of his mind, and swirled his index finger on the touchpad. Sherlock's screen lit up, the screen prompting him to enter Sherlock's password. John typed in his army identification number and hit enter. The screen changed to a silver fractal design that tessellated across the screen, repeating itself infinitely.

He scanned the desktop for a shortcut to the internet, but before he found it, a folder tucked away amongst the others caught his attention. It was an ordinary-looking folder, but the name for it was simply an asterisk. Intrigued, John moved the cursor towards it, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. Sherlock's door was closed, and he was composing on his violin, as usual. Deciding it was safe to snoop for a bit, John double-clicked the folder. He was surprised to find another folder inside it, labeled the same way. He clicked again, with similar results, and had to click once more before he reached a collection of files.

He blinked when he realized what the files were: video files, specifically pornographic in nature. John didn't dare click on any of them, though he was curious, but instead scrolled through the titles of the videos. He immediately saw a pattern, in that every video featured a man being tied down or restrained in some way. John's thoughts immediately turned to Sherlock's scarf, and an idea struck him suddenly.

Abandoning all thoughts of his blog, John strode down the hallway towards Sherlock's bedroom, nabbing the detective's favorite blue scarf on the way. Stopping outside the door, he said, "Sherlock?"

"The password's your army ID, John," Sherlock said from inside the room, pausing in his violin playing.

"Yeah, I know that," John said, shaking his head, "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Sherlock said after a pause, sounding surprised. John opened the door and found Sherlock standing in the opposite corner of the room, violin still propped against his chin. He dropped the violin to his side, however, when he noticed that John was holding his arms behind his back. "What are you holding?"

"Nothing," John replied, a smile spreading across his face. The mischief in it make Sherlock's abdomen tighten. John reached Sherlock and, keeping his left hand and the scarf behind his back, touched the taller man's wrist gently and murmured, "Put it down." Sherlock obediently placed the violin on the floor by his bare feet, and John pulled Sherlock's face towards his for a kiss. It was soft, warm, and very affectionate. Sherlock absolutely melted into John's arms, one of which was still held behind his back.

Stuffing the scarf into his back pocket, John took Sherlock's cold hands in his, and held them together at the wrist. The detective's wrists were small enough for John to be able to hold them together with one hand. Sherlock pulled back from their kissing to look at John inquisitively. The lust in his eyes was clearly short-circuiting his observational skills, and John just grinned at him, looking even more deviant.

Nudging Sherlock towards the bed, John murmured, "Sit down," keeping his grip on Sherlock's wrists firm. Sherlock slowly backed towards the bed and sat down with his back against the headboard, John climbing onto the bed with him. John crawled over Sherlock, holding his wrists together still, and quickly whipped the scarf out of his pocket.

"John, what are you—" Sherlock began, but John shushed him as he took Sherlock's wrists and tied them to the mahogany bedpost.

Straddling Sherlock, John sat back on his heels and saw a slight bulge rising in the detective's pants. Grinning like the cat that got the canary, John taunted, "You like this, don't you?"

"But—how did you…?" Sherlock trailed off, and John could practically see the neurons in his brain misfiring and struggling to communicate with each other. Sherlock Holmes was a genius under the most stressful situations, but once you lick his neck or purr in his ear, his systems shut down.

"I found your… video collection, on your laptop," John said, his grin widening. Sherlock blushed, a rare sight for even John to see. Tracing around the tight knot that held Sherlock's hands to the bedpost over his head, John asked, "Tight enough, you think?" and pulled the knot tighter, causing Sherlock to gasp.

"John," the bound man pleaded, his voice lowered from his hormonal imbalance, "Kiss me."

John willingly complied, pressing his face into Sherlock's, a tingling sensation spreading to his fingers and toes as his blood heated up and his heartbeat quickened. Sherlock made to reach for John, forgetting that he was tied to the bed, and groaning in frustration when his hands wouldn't budge.

John pulled away from Sherlock and took in the detective's dissheveled appearance, enjoying every second of the fact that Sherlock clearly wanted to tackle John and ravage him with kisses and squeezes, but could not because of his restraints. Kneeling in front of Sherlock, still straddling him, John began slowly unbuttoning Sherlock's gray shirt. John was tempted, as he undid the bottom button, to seize Sherlock's erection that pushed so determinedly towards him, but he forced himself to focus on teasing Sherlock slowly.

Leaning forward, John gently pressed his lips to the warm skin on Sherlock's neck, planting kiss after kiss as he moved down the lengthy expanse of ghostly white skin. Upon reaching Sherlock's collarbone, John dragged the tip of his tongue across it, and the detective sucked in his breath, holding it until a light nip on his neck released his suspended air supply in a breathy moan. His whole body was aching for contact with John's, but the only contact between the two was John's mouth. John was clearly making a point not to touch Sherlock with anything besides his lips, and it was driving the detective absolutely mad.

John was kissing Sherlock's chest now, enjoying the feel of his impossibly soft skin against his lips. He pressed his lips to Sherlock's left nipple, and he could feel Sherlock jerk at his restraints. Without taking his lips off Sherlock's nipple, he reached up and gently laid a hand on Sherlock's arm, just below the scarf at his wrist, to wordlessly discourage him from struggling. Sherlock obeyed with a whimper as John began gently sucking on the soft pink nub, almost the way a nursing baby would. Sherlock's eyes were closed, but he could feel his eyes roll into the back of his head, feeling the warm breath from John's nose on his chest and the moist, gentle pull from his sucking.

John's hand slid from Sherlock's wrist down the inside of his forearm, to his shoulder, crossing over to bare skin on his chest, grazing over his right nipple, and stopping at his waist. Flicking his tongue over the nipple he'd been sucking on, John withdrew and looked up at Sherlock's face. After a moment, Sherlock opened his eyes and stared lustfully into John's. Maintaining eye contact with his lover, John inched forward in his kneeling position so that his erection brushed against Sherlock's. The detective moaned loudly, and it felt like his cock was trying to remove itself from his body to be closer to John's.

John dismounted from the bed and began quickly undressing himself until he was completely naked. Sherlock couldn't keep his hungry eyes off of John's prick as he climbed back onto the bed, straddling Sherlock once again. John began undressing Sherlock as best he could; the open shirt would have to stay, because Sherlock would need to be untied to remove it, but the trousers and boxer-briefs were off in a flash.

Tossing the discarded clothes to the floor, John walked on his knees until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Sherlock, their pricks touching. He could feel moisture rubbing from the tip of Sherlock's onto his, and grinned mischeviously as he started gently making small thrusting motions with his hips. The friction of John's prick against his own made Sherlock groan and thrust his own hips to meet John's, and it looked as though they were trying to catch a flame between them. John moaned contentedly, and Sherlock whimpered. He was used to a much faster, rougher pace, and this was agonizing and wonderful all at the same time.

John felt like he was going to go mad if he didn't speed things up soon, however, and so he backed away from Sherlock, breaking contact. Sherlock reflexively thrust his hips a few times, as if begging John to come back, and his prick bobbed with each gentle movement.

"John…" Sherlock pleaded, his voice cracking from the dryness in his throat.

"Shh," John shushed him again, and stood up on the bed, bending his head down slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling. He took two steps forward so that his cock dangled in front of Sherlock's face, and before he could say a word, Sherlock parted his lips and took John into his mouth. The doctor felt weak in the knees for a moment, realizing that no matter how many times they had already done it, and no matter how many times they will in the future, he will never adjust to how amazing it felt to be in Sherlock's mouth.

"Oh God, Sherlock… how do you _do_ that? God, it feels so damn—_nngh_!" John moaned, not completely sure of what he was saying. He just hoped that he had conveyed to Sherlock that whatever he was doing with his tongue was fantastic and that if he stopped, John would strangle him. Without warning, Sherlock took John deep into his throat, and John's grip on the detective's curls tightened. "_Bloody_—" John's thought was lost in a grunt, and Sherlock replied with a moan.

John couldn't take it anymore, and he gripped Sherlock's curls and began fucking his mouth in earnest. Sherlock moaned in concert with John as the doctor's thrusts became more desperate and his feral grunts turned to whines. John held onto Sherlock's hair like his life depended on it as he cried out, shooting his cum down Sherlock's throat. Sherlock gulped it down as if he were starving for it, and groaned when John stumbled backwards, falling clumsily onto his arse beside Sherlock. The detective admired John in this candid moment, as he panted and gasped for air while recovering from his orgasm.

"Sh-Sherlock… that was… God, I love you," John panted, pressing his lips firmly and passionately into Sherlock's, tasting his own essence on them and not caring in the slightest. Sherlock allowed John to recover, resting his blonde head on the detective's chest while his breath came back to him.

"John," Sherlock murmured, feeling his unrequited sex pulsing painfully. Hearing his lover's plea for help, John immediately crawled between Sherlock's legs and bent forward to return the favor, but Sherlock said, "No, John, wait." John looked up, confused, and Sherlock continued, "Your hand. Just use your hand."

"That's all?" John asked, surprised.

Sherlock gulped, still tasting John in his mouth, and nodded. "I love your hands on me, John. So rough and gentle at the same—_Oh!_" John had gripped Sherlock's prick mid-sentence and began pumping roughly, but then slowed down to stroke the tip, smearing the copious amounts of precum around the head and down the shaft. Sherlock purred, his lids heavy but not closed. He loved watching John work with his hands, those strong and careful army doctor hands. John squeezed, and Sherlock writhed as the pleasure washed over him. John resumed pumping, allowing his hand to slide up and up, tugging and squeezing and twisting when he got to the top. Sherlock quickly felt himself approaching the edge and began panting and sweating, thrusting into John's strong hand. When Sherlock came, his body trembled and he wailed as his body exploded in a rush of agony or pleasure, or both, he wasn't entirely sure. He just knew that throughout the whole thing, John was there, and his gentle hands were on him.

John watched as it seemed to happen in slow-motion: Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted, and his hips thrust of their own accord as his prick released its bounty, spilling into John's hand and Sherlock's stomach. While Sherlock's chest heaved and his prick relaxed in John's hand, John leaned used his mouth and tongue to clean his hand, using tissue from the nightstand to wipe the spray from Sherlock's stomach.

"John," Sherlock finally croaked, opening his bleary eyes, "untie me."

John leaned over his lover, undoing the knot and tossing the scarf on the floor as Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss. He slid down against the headboard until the two men lay in each other's arms. With John's head on Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock's arm around John, the two fell asleep in a post-coital haze that pacified them through the rest of the afternoon.


End file.
